“But my girls are not like you, Hilary,” continued the mother, “and their characters have cost me many an anxious hour. Heaven knows how earnestly I have prayed sometimes, to be spared as their guide; but this is self-will, and self-conceit, perhaps; now my only prayer is, that, in whose hands soever they may fall, whatever troubles may come upon them, they may be brought home safe at last. We are so unbelieving, we would fain choose our own path, and the paths of our dear ones also; as if our narrow view could be better trusted than His, who has told us so plainly what we ought to seek, and what we may then hope for. All will be right at last, and now I trust them entirely to the Will which can not err: yet not the less would I warn you, Hilary, of the care and discipline they need. Sybil is tender, loving, feeble, clinging for support to those around her; do not act for her, my love; make her feel her own responsibility, or the realities and cares of life will fall with a crushing force on her. Look at the clematis which garlands this lime――such is she; take away her support, and the long wreaths will droop and sink to the earth, and may be trampled by every careless foot.” “But we can not change the nature of the clematis, mamma; we can only prop it up, and guard it carefully, and rejoice even in its clinging, graceful fragility, which gives a beauty to the bare and rugged stem, or the unpoetical wall and trellis.” “True, you can not change the clematis, Hilary; but therein a Christian differs from a soulless plant; her nature may be strengthened by attention and discipline, till she may be firm and yet flexible; yielding and yet self-supporting; regaining with elastic vigor the upward tendency, even after the hand has bent it down, or the breeze turned it aside. You can not make a clematis into a willow, but you may teach a feeble mind and drooping heart where to find strength of purpose and constancy of aim. Teach Sybil that the weakest may have strength sufficient to their need, but not in earthly things; earthly props break and crumble away, or are removed in kindness, lest we lean too much upon them. Trust to the One above. He never fails. Poor Sybil! she is very far from knowing this as yet!” They were both silent for some time; then Mrs. Duncan seated herself, and continued, as Hilary nestled close to her side. “As to Gwyneth, she is different; she has all the passionate and hasty nature of my country. Welsh blood runs in her veins, and along with this warmth she has much self-will and presumption; she doubts not her own opinion, and can not bear to have it questioned; yet she is so young that I have every reason to hope that attention may check what is wrong, and religion lead her to true strength and confidence. And then for my little Nest――the darling! who can tell what that little black-eyed, bewitching fairy may turn out? Heaven help me! but it is hard to think of leaving her.”